


Hollow

by orphan_account



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Destroy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They speak of her as if she's dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: "[i've started again / to miss your hands](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ne_XzO4LJM)," **the heretic** (the sound of animals fighting)
> 
> spoilers for the EC

Her body is broken. The humans on her crew keep murmuring that it's going to take a miracle for her to pull through; but, she's still breathing when they drag her out of the rubble. She's practically in pieces beneath the sharp edges of rock. He swears he sees her torn, bleeding lips turned up in a grin before the James human sweeps her up in his arms. Vague whispers echo through the ship the longer the human labeled as ex-Cerberus spends away—they brought her back before, it was worse before, Miranda can make it work, they won't need Reaper tech this time will they? The murmuring makes the air heavy with equal parts hope and doubt and it makes the skin beneath his armor itch and his hands ache for the excuse to shoot something more substantial than a row of empty beer bottles.

As the weeks pass, the ship stays quiet save the hushed, almost fearful murmurs that linger in the empty halls. He agrees to spar with her crew down in the cargo bay and nearly breaks the turian's arm. He leaves despite her crew's half-hearted assurances that they understand. He stays in the port cargo. He washes his hands and refuses to give into the needling her crew starts over the comms. They offer him a place at the table for their dinner that evening—the quarian plays as a mediator and promises there will be alcohol and he doesn't _need_ to talk. He gives her no answer, but she bounces onto the tips of her toes and nods as if he's agreed to tolerate the presence of the Commander's crew for longer than he needs to.

He goes to the Commander's cabin instead and as he steps out of the elevator and runs a hand against one wall he contemplates how this is easily skewed as invasive; but, for all he and her crew know, the Commander is dead. This room could soon be open to all who wish to tramp into it and dull her presence and he has never been here before. He would prefer to see the place before it is disturbed.

But, she is nothing but a faint trace in the cabin.

There is no cloying, perfumed scent that lingers like it does in some areas of the ship and the surfaces—computer, alarm clock, nightstand, the rough cloth of her desk chair, the pristine models stacked precariously on their perches—are devoid of anything other than the occasional, absent-minded touch. Her rodent is still in its glass cage on an eye-level shelf, asleep, and the fish in her aquarium are still alive and swimming lazily in the blue-lit water. Her armor locker is locked shut, the bed made, the desk clear of papers and belongings.

The room is _empty._

He inhales deeply and leaves as quietly as he came.

*

The mess hall smells like alcohol induced melancholy and her crew are sitting in what appears to be companionable silence when he steps out of the elevator. One of them—the quarian, Tali laughs quietly. “Do you remember,” she starts, her voice warbling in what is most likely a mix of drunkenness and thick emotion, “when she almost ran you over?” The turian rumbles out a half-slurred, “I wish I didn't,” that's warm and fond despite the short quip to the words. Her crew is laughing again now. The teary edge to the sound is hard to miss.

“She was always doing things like that,” the quarian murmurs fondly.

The human biotic laughs and points at the turian, “D'you guys remember when she ended up puking in that flower vase at Ashley's memorial?”

Their next bout of laughter sounds less strained and the stories seem to flow easier. They speak of the Commander making a krogan squadmate cry by doing nothing more than attempting to drive in a straight line, of how she would break tension by doing nothing but threaten that she would start dancing, and that sometimes she would laugh until she cried with whoever stayed up late into the night cycle with her.

They speak of her as if she's dead.

It takes no more than half an hour before their laughter dies down, and as quiet minutes crawl by each of her crew goes quiet in private contemplation. Their faces are hard and tense with whatever thoughts they have managed to settle on. He turns his gaze down to the kitchen counter he’s been leaning on. He considers her cabin. The emptiness and the coldness in her eyes throughout the past months compared to the woman that has just been described in short, drunken vignettes. These stories her crew have been telling with wet eyes and voices warbling with laughter and grief… he does not know what to make of it. The image of the Commander smiling freely—of her laughing with a drunken human blush on her cheeks—it is nothing like the woman he knew. Knows. Her smile is not something that seems common; and, he thinks of Thane Krios’s name, almost worn despite the newness of the plaque, that sits upon an already full memorial wall.

How much did the Commander smile before everything was lost?

The asari holds up a glass.

“A toast,” she says quietly. The rest of the Commander's crew raise their already half-empty glasses, and without even a glance at each other, they say in unison, “To Shepard.”

“To Shepard,” Javik murmurs.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write something that had Javik not dealing well with Shepard's death/not death as well as him not being able to reconcile the stories of Shepard before she died with the Shepard he knows. This, in all honesty, isn't the piece I wanted to write but it's a start.
> 
> I'm still having a lot of trouble with Javik's voice.


End file.
